Beth Norvell

There was an unusually boisterous, quarrelsome crowd congregated in

front of the Poodle-Dog, and she turned aside into the middle of the

street in order to get past undisturbed. Some one called noisily for

her to wait and have a drink, but she never glanced about, or gave

slightest heed. At the curb a drunken woman reeled against her,

peering sneeringly into her face with ribald laugh, but Beth Norvell

pushed silently past, and vanished into the protecting shadows beyond.

The wide doors of the brilliantly illuminated Gayety were flung open,

the bright light from within streaming far across the road. Many of

its patrons, heated with liquor and the dance, had swarmed forth upon

the broad platform outside in search of fresher air. To avoid pushing

her way through this noisy crowd the girl swiftly crossed the street

into the darkness opposite. As she paused there for an instant,

scarcely conscious that the glow of the lamps reflected full upon her

face, there sounded a sudden clatter of horses' hoofs to her right, and

a half-dozen riders swept around the sharp corner, dashing forward into

the glare. She had barely time in which to leap backward out of their

direct path, when one of the horsemen jerked his mount upon its

haunches, and, uttering an oath of astonishment, leaned forward across

his pommel, staring down into her startled face. Then he laughed.

"Go on, boys," he cried, sitting erect, with a wave of his hand to the

others. "I 'll catch up within half a mile. I 've got a word to say

first to this precious dove fluttering here." He struck the flank of

his horse, causing the sensitive beast to quiver, his own lips curling

maliciously. The girl, panting between parted lips, never lowered her

eyes from his face, and the steady look angered him.

"Still hunting for Winston?" he questioned, sneeringly. "Well, I can

inform you where he may very easily be found."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, out at the 'Little Yankee.' It seems you were a trifle late in

getting him word, or else your fascinations failed to move him. You

must be losing your grip."

She neither moved nor spoke, her eyes--dark, unwinking beneath the wide

hat-brim--telling him nothing. Yet her hand closed upon the pearl

handle hidden away in the jacket pocket, and her lips formed a straight

line.

"I 'm damned sorry you did n't land the fellow, Lizzie," he went on

brutally. "He 's about the best catch you 're liable to get, and

besides, it leaves me a rather unpleasant job. Still, I thought I 'd

better tell you, so you would n't feel it necessary to hang around the

streets here any longer. Fact is, I 'm anxious to shield your

reputation, you know." He looked about carelessly, his glance settling

on the open doors of the Gayety. "Don't strike me this is exactly the

sort of place for one of your moral respectability to be discovered in.

Lord! but what would the old man or that infernal prig of a brother of

yours say, if they could only see you now? A monologue artist at the

Gayety was bad enough, but this, this is the limit."